The Gardener's Return
by boughsofanaspen
Summary: An elderly Samwise Gamgee takes a last look at what Mordor has become


_Come, Mr. Frodo! I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you!_

His own voice echoed in his memory. Trembling, Mr. Samwise Gamgee sank to the ground. His left knee dug in not to harsh black stone, but soft thick grass. He clutched his can before him, using it for support. He removed one hand, laying his palm flat against the ground. There was life now, life in abundance. He craned his neck back, blinking up at the sun - clear in the absence of the red smog that had once dominated. His eyes flickered closed. /br/br

His memories of that time, untouched by the scourge of age, were vivid. It seemed only weeks, not decades, since he had last passed these mountains. In a sense, he had passed in a different world altogether. He opened his eyes. He could still see it, as it had been. He could see the great tower, the flame of the ever-watchful eye. What was now lucious heather and soft bushes had been black crags. His feet, though covered with tough callouses as they were, still bore the scars of those crags.

Now, the sun was a pleasant warmth upon his back. But he remembered a time when the stench had been stifling, when the air had been thick with rot and decay. He shivered, a frown pulling at his lips. All of that was gone now, had been turned to peace and prosperity. Many had insisted that that peace had come at his own hands, as a product of his own stout heart. It was not so. He had carried no burden, at least no burden heavier then his beloved master. He would have carried Frodo across the seas. But the elves, with their quiet elegance, had borne him away. So many years ago. Death had borne away others. His darling Rosie had left him. With a legacy of thirteen children left behind, it was becoming clear his time was ending.

He lifted his palm, returning it to his cane. He pushed himself to his feet with a harsh breath and a groan. His old bones creaked. He had passed his hundredth birthday, though in the wake of Mr. Bilbo's grand celebration decades ago, it seemed not nearly as impressive. There was a voice, a presence at his side.

**"Let me help you, Da."** Sam turned a wrinkled smile on his eldest son. He had become a strapping man, his dark curls tinged with the classic Gamgee ginger. But his strength, his quiet demeanor, were reminiscent of another family entirely. And properly so. Sam shook his head.

**"Frodo, my boy,"** he happily accepted the extended arm as he mused. **"I never imagined wanting to come back. But this seemed like the only place to end."** He looked around. His son would never know what it had been, would never see the horror of the path his father had walked. It was a legacy reduced to legend now. Memories, a dark solemnity, still haunted the place. Frodo had felt it as they climbed the stair, passing through the tunnels that had once been the lair of Shelob. That, they had passed in silence. There was no need to give voice to that terrible ghost.

**"Da, we need to be going. We've a long journey still and your ship awaits."** Sam held up a hand, gently silencing his son. He sighed, shaking his head.

**"Give me a moment or two longer. I'm sure the Undying Lands will wait."** He put out his cane, taking a hobbling step forward. He took another, his steps becoming stronger and more sure. Frodo trailed quietly after him. He didn't need to hear the tales, they were as familiar to him as any fable. He knew too that, for the moment, his father was gone. He was lost in a time that had long since vanished, but would never entirely be conquered for those who had lived it. /br/br

The lava, a molten force of destruction, had seemed to fill Mordor. Samwise remembered it in glimpses, the red of fire glowing below as he dangled from the talons of an eagle. Like a forest fire, Mount Doom had raged. The regrowth had been slow. Even now, as life seeped back in, traces still remained. He raised a shaking hand, pointing to the very peak of what had been Mount Doom. It still cast a resolute black silhouette against the sky. Never would its peak be shrouded in snow. Never would life touch that solitary mountain. Only around it, in the healing valleys and hills, had recovery begun. His arm, shaking, dropped to his side. Frodo stepped forward, putting a hand on his father's shoulder.

**"Oh Frodo, Middle Earth has no place for the dark memories."** He shook his head. **"I fear what I will find across the sea." **Frodo, silently, steered his father away from the mountain. A breeze blew wisps of clouds that covered the very top. Frodo forced down a shiver, glad to see the eery mountain obscured from view. He slowly led Sam back to where their ponies were waiting, accompanied by men dressed in the livery of Gondor. Aragorn, forever asleep in the tomb of kings, was not present. It seemed Sam would be the last to go, the last remnant of a time everyone needed to forget.

**"You'll find the members of your Company."** Frodo spoke quietly, assisting his father onto his pony. **"They've been waiting for you. And considering the shape of Bag End from when I was a boy, I fancy Mr. Baggins will be needing a good gardener."** Frodo mounted his own pony. Accompanied by their small escort, they began the descent. They avoided Shelob's lair now, instead choosing the easiest roads, away from the darkness Sam had once known. Frodo chattered on along the way, reminiscing.

**"You know, Da, I bet they'll have some of the best taters you ever seen. You can make Mr. Frodo his coney stew just the way it should have been."** Young Frodo had always been fond of his father's tale of the rabbit stew, of Gollum's inability to understand the concept of a decent hot meal. He was rewarded with a quiet laugh from Sam.

**"Ol' Stinker never got his taters did he? Too good for him anyways."** Sam fell into quiet musing. They continued almost entirely in silence until making camp that night. The Gondor escort moved around Sam and Frodo with quiet reverence. There was an awe surrounding this tiny aged halfling. They settled down to sleep, Frodo quiet beside his father. As Sam began to drift off, his son reached out his hand, holding tight./br/br

**"I'll make sure they know. I'll bring Rosie, like you brought me. I'll make sure she knows what her Gaffer did. I won't forget the mountain."** Sam released a breath of a sigh, a weight lifting as he sagged into his blankets. A faint smile came over his lips. Maybe that was all he needed, to know that someone wouldn't forget their suffering. For the first time, he didn't turn his gaze back to that distant mountain. In a moment that slipped away, almost unnoticed, Samwise Gamgee had passed into legend.


End file.
